


domesticity

by isharaytaoshay



Series: The Tales of Fen'nas Lavellan [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Morning Rituals, Romance, brief mention of King Alistair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 20:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9090373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isharaytaoshay/pseuds/isharaytaoshay
Summary: Mornings are his favorite. Domestic fluff with the Lion and his Lady.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not dead! I am juggling two fics right now on top of two jobs and am in the process of starting the next life stage: college. This oneshot it part of a bigger fic I'm working on right now feat my Dalish mage Inquisitor Fen'nas! 
> 
> If you like, come drop me a line at bioticbootii.tumblr.com I love to talk! 
> 
> "éan beag" is Gaelic for little bird. I couldn't resist.

Cullen had long-since grown used to waking up to find Fen’nas curled up next to him in his bed. 

Even before they’d become a couple it wasn’t unusual for her to climb into bed with him. “It’s to quiet in my room,” she’d say before tucking herself in under his arm and promptly pass out. A poor sleeper, Cullen was usually loathe to share his sleeping space, but Fen’nas slept like a rock. She was the type to find a comfortable position and stay in it until it was time to wake up. 

He’d had never slept well even as a child still living on his parent’s farm. After the events of Kinloch it had become an even worse problem with the heavy purple bags under his eyes a near permanent feature. So he was surprised at how much his sleep had improved with Fen’nas next to him. Her solid weight against him and her sleepy murmurs of comfort did more for him than any deep breathing techniques he knew. 

Now that they were officially together, she spent more time in his bed than she did before which was just fine with him. He worried when she was out in field; yes, he was very aware she was a capable mage (he’d had the bruises to prove it after facing her in the ring) but he couldn’t help it. She was one of the best things in his life and he wasn’t willing to let her go, not when he’d just found her.

A glance through the gaping hole in his roof revealed the sky just beginning to turn pink with the rising sun. He sighed heavily, unwilling to start his day just yet. He looked to his left to see a mop of white hair sticking out from under the blankets and not much else. Cullen grinned. For all that she loved the cold (Maker, she walked barefoot in the snow) she liked many blankets while she slept, which was just fine for Cullen who had the tendency to run a mild fever most nights. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before sitting up to take stock of his clothing. 

Cullen stretched his arms above his head, joints popping and he near groaned from the pleasure of it. He fished a clean pair of smalls and trousers from the chest next to the small table on the wall and after putting them on, located his boots. Laces tied, he slid down the ladder, landing with a thump. His desk had several new reports and missives in its usual chaos much to his dismay. Paperwork was a demon that never went away. 

He walked outside onto the battlements, the mountain air both bracing and refreshing. This is his favorite time of day-most of Skyhold still abed and still, a brief window of peace. Cullen drinks in the view of the sunrise as he stretches in preparation for his run.

He much preferred his runs when they were still in Haven, the landscape both beautiful and providing a challenge (he would never admit how many tree roots he’d tripped over), but it’s his morning ritual. 

He starts slow, warming up his muscles. Most of the patrols half-heartedly acknowledge him, their minds drifting to their beds as they reach the ends of their night shifts; he’s a familiar sight in the morning.

His body is soaked with sweat and humming pleasantly with the thrill of exertion when he’s done. Cullen heads over to the laundry and picks it up before making his way to the bathhouse in the barracks. Clean and wide awake, he’s ready to face the day. 

Skyhold awakens in stages, it’s cook's earliest of all. So when Cullen cuts through the kitchens on the way back to his tower, the preparations for breakfast are in full swing. The head cook, an older redcliffe native named Gilly is kneading dough for bread when she spots him. Wiping her hands off on her apron, she grabs a pastry from one of the pans being pulled from the oven and drops it in front of him after shooing him onto a stool out of the way. He has long since learned to not offer to help her when she lifts the heavy kettle off the fire and fills a mug with water before adding the strong black tea favored by most Fereldan’s. 

“I did this every morning for young Alistair back when he was still all scraped knees and big ears,” she told him once when Cullen asked her why she went out of her way to feed him despite everything she had to do in the mornings. 

“That boy would never dared to ask for anything thanks to that Orlesian Eamon took to wife. You remind me of him: overworked and never expecting a thank you,” Cullen chuckled at how she sneered the word Orlesian and listened to stories she told of Alistair before he was king. In return he told her stories of him during Templar training. 

It became part of his morning ritual to sip his tea (black with three sugars) and munch on whatever was fresh out of the oven before he made his way back to the tower. The smell of fresh bread made him feel warm inside, bringing forth hazy memories of his mother’s kitchen. 

He climbed up the ladder once inside his tower and shook his head when he saw Fen’nas still abed. She’d moved, apparently realizing at some point he’d left and was hugging his pillow. It was time for her to start her day, so he sat down beside her to begin the process of bringing her into the land of the living.

“Come on éan beag” he said quietly, stroking her white hair out of her face. She’d always loved it when he slipped into the Fereldan language. It was unusual to hear it, especially to those who were not Fereldan since it was one of the few things the Orlesians had tried to stamp out during the occupation. Most stuck to Trade tongue now at least in public, but among family and friends it was spoken. 

Fen’nas groaned and buried her face into his pillow, causing Cullen to chuckle. It wasn’t that she wasn’t a morning person, it was that she wasn’t a waking-up person. He petted her hair and after several moments of his encouragements she let out a heavy sigh and flung the bedding off of her. Rolling over to look at him with a pout he only grinned which caused her to pout more. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips and stood up to let her dress. 

As she stumbled about the room blearily, he collected his shaving kit and filled the two small bowls on the small table against the wall with water. He set out his razor, whetstone, strop, soap and aftershave in a neat row before inspecting the edge on his razor. Seeing it was a little dull, he took his whetstone and strop to it before taking the soap to lather his face.

He paused when he spotted Fen’nas looking at him with a curious expression in the mirror. 

“Something wrong?” he asked. She blinked and shook her head slightly as if trying to clear it, her trousers in her hands clearly forgotten. 

“I’ve never seen you shave before. The men in my clan never needed to and I never saw anyone do it until Varric,” Fen’nas said, padding over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist with her face pressed against his back. 

Cullen raised an eyebrow but returned to his task of soaping up his face. There was no scent as was his preference, but had a pleasant tingly sensation. 

He paused again when she pulled away suddenly to say, “Can I do it?” 

At first he was confused, but when she looked pointedly at his razor he figured it out. “You want to help me shave?” When she nodded he again raised an eyebrow. 

“Do you even know how?” 

“Varric showed me,” she said and at his confused expression she explained, “I was curious.” 

That curiosity led her to strange and often dangerous places. He remembered when she took down her first high dragon-she’d been curious by a noise (so claimed the report) and then thrown into a fight with her party. Not only had they returned victorious, the skull was hung in the Great Hall. 

“If that’s what you want,” Cullen said. She beamed and pulled the chest from the wall, gesturing for him to sit down. She took the razor and after turning his face the way she wanted began her task.

They didn’t speak, didn’t need too. She was focused and gentle as she assisted him in this little ritual and Cullen was struck by the domesticity of it. Fen’nas wasn’t one to say she loved someone, she preferred to show them. It had taken him some time to realize that she said it all the time, from the way she helped with his migraines, to the way she’d bring him food when he forgot to eat, to making him tea the way he liked it and caring for his armor when he was too bone-tired to properly put it away. 

It was over too soon for his liking and she moved out of the way to allow him to rinse off the remaining suds and hair and apply his aftershave. He reached for his comb and after rolling his eyes at her giggle as he fished out his hair product, he carefully styled his unruly curls into the more professional look he’d adopted once he’d taken over as Knight-Commander in Kirkwall. 

Once they were both dressed and ready, they went down the ladder to part ways for the day. More paperwork had piled up on his desk since his run and he gave it a brief glare before he turned to kiss her goodbye. 

“Don’t let the nobles eat you alive,” he joked and kissed her forehead when she grimaced. 

“Nobility, paperwork-you humans don’t know how to make things easy, do you?” Fen’nas grumbled. 

“Go on éan beag. I’ll see you at dinner?” she nodded and with a final kiss goodbye, she left out the eastern door. 

Sitting behind his desk, Cullen rubbed his mouth for a moment before shaking his head and diving headfirst into the chaotic mess that he was pretty sure had a desk underneath it. 

Domesticity. He could get used to that.


End file.
